


St. Valentine Totally Died For This

by SushiOwl



Series: Steter Trumblr Prompts [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baking, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 09:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: Tumblr Prompt"i suggest Steter, Valentine's Day, and the sentence I got was: He was at a crossroads and whichever path he chose would ruin someone''s life"





	St. Valentine Totally Died For This

**Author's Note:**

> This fic made me really want cake.... And I wrote it like five days ago and forgot to post it here.

Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, and Peter had  _fucking forgot._

So he had nothing planned. He had no gifts, no reservations at a restaurant, no chocolates to give. This wasn’t like him, but there had been a kelpie outbreak in the lake, and he had been busy keeping stupid humans from drowning. (He had suggested to let at least one drown, as maybe that would warn the others away, but Stiles assured him that kelpie trances worked no matter your intelligence or fear level.)

So what did he do? Did he burst into a bakery and throw money at a poor baker for a rush job on a themed cake? Did he drive around town looking for the only box of chocolates left? Or did he become a confectioner himself on the fly?

Peter was at a crossroads, and whichever path he chose would ruin someone’s life.

And after going to a few bakeries with high hopes, he discovered that the life ruined that night would be his.

The thing was, he was a naturally creative person, a wordsmith at the worst of times. He could play piano and the violin, draw and paint, and even sing if he was caught in the mood. He could easily design an amazing cake in his head. He knew exactly how he wanted it to look and exactly how to get it to do so.

But the problem was that decorating was a creative thing, but baking was a science. He and science had never had an amiable relationship. But he had no time to complain about this not coming easily to him, because he had to make a cake.

Though after reading a few recipes and watching a few YouTube videos on cake decorating, he was considering making cupcakes. There was a smaller margin of error, it looked like. But when one YouTube chef informed his audience that they should just make cupcakes if they were beginners and were afraid to mess up, he was unduly offended and decided to go big or go home.

The cake was a disaster. Cementing broken pieces of sponge together with frosting would probably have worked if he had waited until they were cool, but he hadn’t because he had a time crunch and this was his fifth try.

He sat at the kitchen island, staring at his creation and was no certain that baking would be ultimate downfall. Worse, however, was that he was pretty sure the recipient of would probably laugh, and it wouldn’t be a delighted on. It would be a pitying what-the-hell-is-that laugh. Peter put his head in his hands.

He didn’t move when he heard the spare key to his apartment slide into the lock or when the door opened. He didn’t look up when his name was called. “In here,” he said, mostly into his hands, curling his fingers against his eye sockets.

He listened to the footsteps come closer, transferring from carpet to marble tile before stopping. There a long moment of silence, and Peter turned his head to look.

Stiles was staring at the cake, amber eyes big and lips parted. He tilted his head, before he came around the island to stand by Peter, still regarding the cake. Finally he looked at Peter. “You made me a cake?”

Peter’s shoulder slumped just a bit. “I tried,” he said, and admitting the failure agitated him more than the failure itself.

Stiles beamed at him, before he wrapped his arms around Peter’s bicep and rubbed his face into his shoulder and neck. “You made me a caaaake!” he cooed, and Peter had to snort. “You could have had one made, but you made it by yourself, because you looooove me.” When Peter turned his head, Stiles nudged their noses together before kissing him.

Peter smiled, sitting up straighter. “You really like it, darling?”

Stiles wiggled way into Peter’s lap. “If that frosting is whipped chocolate buttercream, then I more than like it. I’m gonna shove my face into it.”

Laughing softly, Peter kissed Stiles’s jawline. “Of course it is. But we are men, let’s be civil.” He reached over and grabbed one of the forks he had set out in the very beginning of this endeavor and cut a piece off. “Try it.” He held it for Stiles to take the bite right off the fork.

Stiles did, and he moaned like they were doing something entirely different as he chewed. “Ohmigawd, so good. I’m gonna get so fat. You’ll have to help me work it off.” He smiled, before he motioned to the cake, wanting another bite.

Peter gave it to him and licked a bit of stray frosting from the corner of his mouth. “With pleasure.”

Leaning in, Stiles kissed his forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sexybutt.”

That pulled a snorting laugh out of Peter. “Happy Valentine’s Day, dear one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me on [Tumblr.](thesushiowl.tumblr.com) I do public prompts sometimes.


End file.
